


roah/ronoah

by ronanlunch



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronanlunch/pseuds/ronanlunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>my roah ficlets</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. selfies

Noah eyed his chance when Ronan finally fell asleep. He waited until he was 100% sure the other boy wouldn’t wake up before he snuck over, climbing into bed next to him. Putting their faces close together, he raised the camera above them, adjusting his face a little when he saw it on the screen. Serious or smile? He wasn’t sure. He glanced over at Ronan, whose mouth was slightly open. Closing his eyes, Noah mimicked the expression, pressing down on the screen experimentally. Glancing through his eyelashes he realised that he had missed the button, so he tried again, feeling satisfied when he heard the loud shutter noise. Wait. He froze. He could feel the muscles in Ronan’s face tense beside him, and he pulled away slowly, daring a quick look over at the other boy only when he was a safe distance away. As safe as you could be when your bodies were flush together anyway. Ronan was staring at the phone, a pained expression on his face in reaction to the tiny photo in the corner of the screen. Before Noah could consider the consequences he pressed his thumb down again, Ronan’s look of horror flashing on the screen quickly before it, too, found its place in the corner.  
“Czerny,” Ronan said slowly, and Noah smiled at him defensively, a nervous giggle raising in his throat. “Noah Czerny, you delete those right at this fucking second, or I swear…” This was the moment of truth. Taking a deep breath, Noah focussed before disappearing, rematerialising in his own room, phone still safely in his hand. When he heard Ronan’s roar from the other side of the wall, he finally let the laughter out.


	2. ghost sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very imaginative titles, i know. i'm famous for them

there have been 118 nights since joseph kavinsky went out in a chariot of fire, and ronan lynch is alone in bed. he isn’t crying, he doesn’t do that, but his shoulders are tense and his mind even tenser. he won’t go there, he won’t, he won’t.

his heavy duvet lifts briefly and as cold hands wrap around his waist he lets himself hope, for just a fragment of a moment, that the fingers belong to someone other than the resident ghost, that another spirit entirely is haunting his bed.

freezing toes push against his skin and a chill runs through his spine before he, against all reason, melts into the embrace. does this count as being alone? he isn’t sure.

twisting his head, lips meet and ronan lets his tension, his worries, his thoughts, bleed out as their tongues touch and ronan breathes in the sweet smell, breathes out the smoke and ash polluting his system.

lips and tongues and fingers trace his body and it’s ice, not fire, but it’s good, it’s still good to be wanted and to be able to give himself away as he should have done months ago, if he had only done it four months and 29 days ago, to have the responsibility be on someone else, not have to worry about what is right and what is correct and how he should be over that damned criminal by now, ronan, didn’t i tell you he didn’t matter? and he didn’t matter, that is why ronan didn’t even go to his funeral. never even visited his grave. doesn’t bring those greedy lips back on the occasions he hasn’t been able to stop them from claiming him in his dreams.

a gasp escapes him as fingers enter him, as his full attention is focused on one spot, and for a split nothing in the history of time he forgets who he is, who he was, who he wasn’t and when he comes he can just about convince himself to moan the correct name.


	3. halloween

“i’m not doing it”

“why not?” noah turned his head to look at ronan, who was defiantly standing with the sharpie in his hand poised like a knife.

“it’s fucking stupid is why i’m not doing it.” ronan scowled but didn’t move, didn’t walk away as noah turned back and pulled his t-shirt off.

“you owe me, ronan. please just do this one thing, i promise i won’t ever ask you for anything ever again.” he threw a quick look over his snow white shoulder. “ever. word”

“it’s not just one thing, it’s an entire string of fucking events. i draw my tattoo on your back, i put on a fucking sheet, which by the way is not how you fucking l - yes i get the point - and then we have to go trick or treating in the neighbourhood?! not doing it”

noah took a deep breath, entirely for theatrics, before turning around and calmly taking the sharpie from ronan’s clenched fist.

“okay,” he explained. “first of all, the sheet was your idea, so that no one would recognize you. secondly, it’s cute, us dressing up like each other. thirdly, trick or treating means free candy, ronan, do you even get that? free. candy. and finally, i love you”

at that last point, ronan’s face mashed up in an expression somewhere between disgust and adoration

“i hate you,” he pointed out before grabbing back the sharpie and taking a hold of noah, swiveling him around. “now keep fucking still or i will murder you again with this thing as my only weapon”


	4. daddy

noah’s fingers were cold down ronan’s pants and honestly, he had never thought it would work, he had thought the entire dead-not-actually-there-hand thing would freak him out, but the chill towards his hot skin was actually not bad, and he finally understood why kavinsky had been so insistent on bringing ice cubes to bed the next time they got it on (a happening which sadly never took place, regardless of the facebook event ronan had been invited to exactly three seconds after kavinsky haphazardly had asked him if he was up for it. being called to run the mobster scene in jersey was apparently more important than shaved not-really boyfriends. not that ronan cared. at all).

a firm grip brought ronan back to present day and the considerably smudgier and paler boy who was currently trying to get in his pants. or get them off. noah looked up at ronan through his lashes. “come to daddy,” he moaned.

ronan froze. noah froze. after the longest time, noah spoke up. “what?” he said thinly. ronan frowned, and noah asked again, although his voice was now resigned. “what.”

“really,” ronan said. “daddy? really.”

“it’s hot, okay. lana del rey is really into it.”

“lana de what?”

“lana del … it’s not important, let’s finish this.”

“yeah, no.”

“what?”

“i said yeah, no. fuck it, man, that really killed basically everything.”

“really?” noah had a face like a kicked puppy, but fucking hell.

“yeah.”

“so, not happening?”

“nope.”

“ugh.” noah threw himself on the bed next to ronan, nuzzling his head in the crook of his neck.

“so,” he whispered eventually. “how about we watch brother bear?”

ronan had tried getting away from watching that movie since noah discovered it at a yard sale but, really, could it be worse than this? he gave a resigned sigh before getting out of bed.

“come on then, creepo, maybe one of us can get some enjoyment out of this day.”


	5. really only sad noah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk i'm putting it here but it might be more sargerny

noah lets his finger run over where his reflection should have been in the mirror. he can imagine it, how it looked before the smudge and the paleness and the blue lips and the purple bruises under his eyes and the constantly dirty uniform.

he focuses his energy and reappears, takes in his light hair which used to contrast wonderfully with his tan skin. now it just makes him look greyer. washed out.

there was never any doubt in noah’s mind that he was the least attractive friend. whelk had reminded him of it constantly and even though neither of his buddies would even dream of doing so now, he knew it. not that he could meet anyone even if he wanted to, even if he did feel incredibly lonely and frustrated and like he just needed to get out of there.

closing his eyes, he imagines warm lips on his. blue’s, maybe, he doesn’t want to get too specific, doesn’t need the pain, why is there pain in the afterlife anyway, whatever had he done to deserve this?

he rests his head against the mirror, the cold is hardly noticeable, and when he opens his eyes again they meet the watery blue of his own gaze. he holds it, even if it’s uncomfortable. he is not sure if you can lose against yourself. if you can’t, he guesses it means you can’t win either

fists connect with the bathroom door and someone wants to come in, wants a beer from the refrigerator, whatever is he doing in there anyway, and the noise makes him jump and his forehead connects with the mirror hard, and it’s not painful but it’s something, it’s a sensation from somewhere else than inside him, so he does it again and again and again until the mirror breaks. he is disappointed by the lack of blood


	6. bubblegum

“no.” ronan is staring at himself in the mirror, turning this and that way in shock.  
“i didn’t think…” noah starts but drifts off. that he didn’t think is obvious.  
“no,” ronan repeats, his voice flat and without emotion - not needed, as the panic can be read clear as day in his eyes.  
“i was gonna see if i could catch it,” noah explains. “obviously i wasn’t fast enough.”  
“no,” ronan says again, gansey trying to hold him still and get a good look at the damage.  
“really?” he asks, “over his hair?”  
“it’s just gum,” noah whines. “how was i to know it would get stuck that bad?”  
“no,” ronan agrees, clutching his hands in horror, staring at his shoulder long curly dark hair currently knotted together with an unnaturally large blob of gum.  
“i’m sorry, ronan,” gansey whispers. “i think it has to go. all of it.”

and that is the story of how ronan ended up with a shaved head, and also why noah gets thrown out of the window with regular intervals


	7. things you said when you thought i was asleep

dear noah,

your shadow is still visible in the corner. maybe it’s just the dark or my wicked imagination playing tricks on me, but i swear i can see you still. perhaps it’s just the memory of you (but were you ever anything but?)

it’s over now, it’s all over.  
that’s what they keep murmuring under their breaths, whispering only to themselves when we spend time together without really being together cause it’s still too painful and perhaps it will always be. they won’t even meet my eyes.

before, i thought finding glendower would either make us or break us. i never imagined the options to be merely two different sorts of breaking.

you whispered all your secrets to me when you thought i was asleep, but i was never asleep, noah, not really, and i should have done more to help you. i should have done something.   
you were so scared, always so scared, but we thought you invincible. we thought all of us invincible, just all in different ways. the world did a good job of showing us we were anything but, don’t you think?

i guess this is me whispering my secrets to you, asleep. they say death is like sleep after all. after seven long years of being awake, sleep must have felt like the best thing. i can almost taste it, noah, i wish i didn’t but i can almost taste sleep.

there are days i wish i didn’t cry over you. you wouldn’t have wanted me to cry, i know that. maybe i cry for all of us, all our broken futures, our fate lines once intertwined but now they’re all tangled into themselves but set apart, and i’m scared, noah. i’m really really scared. my only comfort is that you’re waiting for me, you’re waiting to curl up next to me and help me sleep.

i miss the weight of you


	8. things you said too quietly

Spilling through the dusty windows, the sun hit Ronan’s head like an halo of golden curls, and Noah wanted to reach out and touch, let his fingers drift through the gilded aura, perhaps be recharged. But Ronan, hunched over his desk, was not to be touched; perfectly breathing, alive, aflame, cells burning and neurons firing rapidly.

Noah was not. He was the moth; the lost shepherd guided by the star; the moon just waiting for the first ribbons of dawn so that it could withdraw, inspirited again by the reality of life.

He will die, Noah thought to himself. Everything living must die. You will never see him like he is now ever again. And you, you will never be anything different.

All he wanted was to be unsettled, to be overwhelmed, to be something more than a distant echo. He wanted to have Ronan like this, forever, to have him every single day. He wanted him to awaken something in him, something other than this hollow yearning.

“I miss you,” he said, too quietly. I miss you already.

But Ronan, still hovering over his papers, never even noticed Noah’s presence.


End file.
